


Inner Child

by futuristicjazzhands



Series: The Many Caregivers of Malcolm Bright [1]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Bed-Wetting, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Malcolm Bright Gets a Hug, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Nightmares, Non-Sexual Age Play, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22694710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futuristicjazzhands/pseuds/futuristicjazzhands
Summary: For years, Malcolm has coped with his PTSD by age regressing. He stopped when he went to work at the FBI. Now that he's back in New York and Martin Whitly is back in his life, he's starting to regress again. Gil helps.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Series: The Many Caregivers of Malcolm Bright [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633090
Comments: 8
Kudos: 114





	Inner Child

**Author's Note:**

> This is NONSEXUAL age regression. Malcolm regresses to cope with his trauma and Gil helps him as a father figure. 
> 
> Also, I have future stories for this series planned so let me know what you think and if you'd like to see any particular characters in future installments.

Gil was worried about Malcolm. That wasn’t anything new, but after everything that had happened since Malcolm returned to New York, Gil couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He felt an urge to go find out what. Despite his attempts to talk himself out of it, he found himself at Malcolm’s door to check up on him. He knocked on the door and waited, but got no response, which Gil found strange since he had noticed lights in the window on his way in.

Worry starting to grow, Gil used the key Malcolm had entrusted him with and let himself in. He rushed, sweeping his gaze across the apartment and hoping he wouldn’t find Malcolm collapsed on the floor from sleep deprivation or hypoglycemia. The sight he found wasn’t much better. 

Malcolm was sitting up in his bed, chains still cuffed to his wrist, tear tracks on his pale cheeks. Gil’s heart hurt when he saw Malcolm’s tremble like a leaf in a storm and even more so when he heard his unsteady, hitching breaths that sounded too close to full-out crying. Gil approached slowly, his voice low and soothing, “Oh, kid…”

Malcolm’s eyes snapped up to meet his, a flash on panic on his face that slowly melted away into something more sorrowful. He didn’t speak, just let out a broken sob and curled up tighter around himself. With his legs pulled up and his face buried in his knees, Gil couldn’t help but think how thin Malcolm was, how small he could make himself when he didn’t want to be seen.

“Hey, Mal, can you look at me?” Gil asked, not surprised when Malcolm shook his head without lifting it. He sat down on the edge of the bed and quickly undid the black wrist cuffs. Malcolm immediately wrapped his arms around his legs, curling into himself even tighter. Gil rubbed Malcolm’s back and tried not to think of how easily he could feel his spine. He was about to prod Malcolm again when he noticed the acrid scent and then upon further inspection, the wet spot under Malcolm. 

Oh. Gil thought. It had been a while since he’d had to deal with this. It was no surprise when Malcolm started to wet the bed after Martin had been arrested. He was just a kid and had been through too much for any grown man, let alone a ten year old. The few times it happened while Malcolm spent the night with Gil and Jackie, Gil had noticed Malcolm wasn’t quite himself after. He acted younger, more like a four-year-old. He wasn’t too concerned about it at first but when it continued to happen every once in a while even once Malcolm was a teenager, Gil started to wonder. 

One time when Malcolm was eighteen, he spent the night at Gil’s and wet the bed. He came to Gil and Jackie’s room in tears and needed help getting cleaned up, functioning more on the level of a preschooler than a high school senior. The next afternoon, after Malcolm had gone back to his version of normal, Gil worked up the nerve to ask him about it. Malcolm blushed and stammered, but eventually explained that he regressed to cope with his trauma, as Gabrielle had put it, and he didn’t have much control over when or how it happened. Gil couldn’t say he completely understood, but he did know that he wanted to be there to take care of Malcolm when he needed it. 

Gil wasn’t sure how he had dealt with it when he was in the FBI, all alone with no one to comfort him or help him. But now that he was back in New York, Gil would make sure he never had to handle that alone. He made his voice as gentle and soothing as he could like he was talking to the most sensitive baby, and tousled Malcolm’s hair before freeing him from the cuffs, “C’mon, sweetheart, I bet you feel really icky right now. Let’s go get you cleaned up, okay?” 

Malcolm choked out another sob and shook his head again. He still looked so scared, like he wasn’t fully out of the nightmare. Gil cupped Malcolm’s cheek and brought his head up, “Look at me, I’m here to help. You’re okay, you’re awake now.”

Eyes wide and filled with tears, Malcolm seemed to see Gil more clearly. He sniffled and took Gil’s hand when he offered it. He wobbled as they went to the bathroom, his legs barely cooperating with him. He would’ve face planted if Gil hadn’t been there to catch him around his middle and hold him upright, “I gotcha. Almost there.”

In the bathroom, Gil sat Malcolm down on the closed toilet and started up the shower. Usually, he would run a bath for Malcolm when he was like this, but Malcolm didn’t have a tub in his bathroom, so a shower would have to do. Gil hesitated, unsure of Malcolm’s mental age. In his experience, Malcolm could regress to anywhere from two to six years old and could thus have varying degrees of self-sufficiency. Right now, he wasn’t sure how much care Malcolm needed from him. As he helped Malcolm strip off his wet pajamas, he asked, “Think you can shower one your own?” 

Malcolm nodded, still replying nonverbally. Words didn’t come as easily when he was regressed, especially right after a nightmare or panic attack, but at least he was responding in some way. Gil nodded, “Alright. I’m going to clean your bed, then I’ll bring you some fresh PJs.” Malcolm looked like he wanted to protest, but refrained, instead looking down at his feet. Gil leaned down to kiss the top of his head, “I won’t be far if you need me.”

Not wanting to leave Malcolm alone for too long, Gil hurried to gather up the soiled sheets and put them as well as Malcolm’s pajamas in the washing machine. He put baking soda on the wet patch of the mattress and picked out some clean pajamas for Malcolm, the softest pair he could find. When he brought them into the bathroom, he found Malcolm sitting in the shower with his thumb tucked into his mouth. He was rocking slightly, eyes squeezed shut and his free hand wrapped around his middle like he was fighting off nausea. 

“Do you need some help, kiddo?” Gil asked, kneeling next to the shower door so he could reach in and push the wet hair out of Malcolm’s eyes. He kept his hand on the nape of Malcolm’s neck as he asked, “Did you wash yourself yet?”

At Malcolm’s nod, Gil turned the shower off and grabbed the big fluffy towel from the rack and held it open, “C’mon, then, before you freeze.” Once the towel was wrapped around Malcolm’s shoulders, he started to sway on his feet. Gil made quick work of drying him off, wanting to get him settled down before he could fall and split and head open. Once he was dry, Gil held out a pair of boxer briefs for Malcolm to step into, then a pair of blue lounge pants. He held the white shirt and said, “Arms up for me.” Malcolm obeyed, relinquishing his thumb to raise his arms so Gil could slide the shirt over his head, “Good boy.” 

Gil brought Malcolm into the living room and draped a soft blanket over him, smiling when Malcolm started to suck his thumb again. Sitting cross-legged on the couch with a blanket on his head and his thumb in his mouth, Gil couldn't see the thirty-year-old profiler, only the little kid who needed him. 

Though he found it quite cute, Gil knew Jessica hated Malcolm’s thumbsucking and insisted he used something more sanitary. She had bought him a variety of pacifiers, some plain and some with cute designs, and gave them to Malcolm with a stern warning to keep his dirty fingers out of his mouth. Gil wondered if Malcolm still had all of those somewhere. “Where’s your little stuff?” he asked.

Malcolm used his free hand to point to his closet. Gil found the box shoved in the very back of the closet, obscured by Malcolm’s insane amount of fancy suits and expensive pairs of loafers. Looking inside, he was surprised and saddened by the meager contents. He hadn't seen Little Malcolm in years, since before he left for the FBI, so he had no idea what kinds of things he had kept over that time. But he found his heart aching when all that resided in the box was Malcolm's beloved teddy, a single pacifier, and a couple of coloring books with some stubby crayons. Is that all he had? 

Gil shoved away thoughts of shopping for toys and focused on the present. He took everything from the box and returned to Malcolm. Malcolm whined in frustration when Gil pulled his thumb away, but he quieted the second Gil offered him the pacifier. It couldn't completely negate the panic, but the soothing motion of sucking and the pleasant texture of the silicone helped Malcolm calm down, if only a little bit. 

"Here, look, I've got Theodore. He could really use a hug from you," Gil said with an almost sing-song quality to his voice as he held out the soft bear. It was old, but it was in pretty good condition thanks to a couple of emergency teddy surgeries in the past and regular washing. It still had the original blue ribbon around its neck and the black button eyes. It was pretty cute, especially when Malcolm would tote it around everywhere. 

Malcolm took Theodore and hugged him close to his stomach, feeling a little safer with something to cling to, something soft and familiar. The panic ebbed slowly away until he had control over his body again. He blinked away the fog in his eyes and felt a smile creep up when he saw Gil sitting at the coffee table with the coloring books and crayons. He still didn’t feel quite up for words, so he simply raised Theodore’s paw and waved it as he hid his face in the fur of the teddy’s head. 

“Hey, there,” Gil said, “Wanna color for a bit? I can put a movie on too.”

Malcolm nodded and slipped off the couch to sit on the floor. He got himself situated, Theodore in his lap and coloring book open to a simple picture of Tigger from Winnie the Pooh. Gil sat next to him, remote in hand, “What do you want to watch? Spongebob?” Malcolm shook his head. “Beauty and the Beast?” Another shake. “Lilo and Stitch?” Finally, an enthusiastic nod. 

As the movie played in the background, Malcolm carefully colored in the sheet as best as he could with the short, broken crayons. Now that he was calmer, Gil felt better about bringing it up, so he nudged Malcolm’s arm, “Is this all the stuff you have for when you’re little?”

Malcolm nodded, a little frown on his face. Gil couldn’t be sure if he was upset by the question or if he was just very concentrated on his coloring, but then Malcolm pulled out his pacifier and said, “Not been little in a while.” His voice was soft – practically a whisper – and a bit of slurred. He sounded so young and rough, but he spoke for the first time since Gil had gotten there, and that was usually a sign that Malcolm was in a better mental place, albeit still regressed. 

“Is this the first time you’ve been little since you came to New York?” 

Malcolm’s face scrunched up and he shoved the pacifier back in his mouth so his words would come out even more slurred, “‘s third.”

“Did you say  _ third _ ? Why didn’t you tell me?” Gil asked, the immediately regretted his phrasing when he saw Malcolm’s wide eyes get wet again. He felt like an idiot for forgetting that the Malcolm in front of him wasn’t the thirty-year-old consultant that always went in without backup but was a little kid who had just had a bad dream. He lowered his voice and ran his fingers through Malcolm’s still damp hair, “I’m sorry, buddy. I’m not angry with you. I just don’t like the idea of you being alone like this.”

“Can take care’a myself,” Malcolm grumbled with a pout that made Gil smile fondly. 

“That’s debatable when you’re big, but when you’re little? Not a chance,” He responded with a light, teasing tone. It was hard for Malcolm to deny. Even when he was big and had better control of his words, he couldn’t really argue that he took good care of himself. 

Malcolm huffed, but leaned against Gil, clearly not too offended. Gil didn’t even think about it as he instinctively wrapped an arm around Malcolm’s shoulders and pulled him in even closer. He slowly ran his hand up and down Malcolm’s upper arm as he said, “I don’t want you to be alone when you regress. Next time you feel little, I want you to call me, okay? No matter what time it is. Can you do that for me, please?”

“I can try…” Malcolm said. He let himself relax and just soak in the comfort Gil was offering, and for the first time in what felt like years, he felt at peace. He felt warm and calm and hopeful. He curled against Gil’s side and shyly told him, “Thank you, Gil.”

“For what?”

“Being here. Being you.” Malcolm mumbled, sheepishly burying his face in Gil’s shirt. He wished he could just stay there forever and forget that he had any father other than Gil. His voice was muffled and shy, but Gil could still hear Malcolm when he said, “I love you.”

Gil couldn’t keep the smile off his face if he tried, “I love you too, kid.”


End file.
